


Baby Blue Robes

by hmweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hangover, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmweasley/pseuds/hmweasley
Summary: The baby blue robes were the least intimidating item in Scorpius' wardrobe, and he always hoped they would be enough to convince the interviewers to see him instead of just another Malfoy intent on corrupting their institution. It never worked out that way.





	Baby Blue Robes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts:  
> Write about someone who is disappointed.  
> Write about someone suffering a hangover.  
> (colour) baby blue  
> (words) shiver, cloth  
> (dialogue) "I just want someone to look at me, and see me, instead of what they expect to see."

Scorpius paused outside the office door, adjusting his favourite pair of baby blue robes. He’d worn the same pair to every job interview after determining they were the least threatening item in his wardrobe, as he’d quickly learned that most of the interviewers were hesitant to speak with him before the interview began.

He knocked, heart hammering in his chest as he heard the confirmation to come in.

When the door opened, the scene before him was one he was familiar with. The interviewer sat behind her desk, lips pursed as she looked him over. In her hand, she held a clipboard that she had been consulting before he arrived. Scorpius had spent days agonizing over every detail of his application, and that was only for the most recent revision of many of its contents. After the many times he had updated it, his resume should have been perfect, but that hadn’t given him any luck when it came to finding a job.

“Hello, Ms Bones,” he greeted with a smile, inclining his head politely.

She gave a short nod, not returning his smile as she motioned towards the seat across from her desk. Scorpius took it, not allowing himself to wince at how uncomfortable the hard wood was. He was starting to think that they avoided putting cushions on the chairs on purpose.

“Mr Malfoy,” Ms Bones began, looking at her clipboard instead of him, “your resume seems to be in order. You have the qualifications we asked for. My first question is: Why are you interested in working for us here at the Flamel Institute?”

Scorpius was prepared. He pretended to give it a second of thought before he launched into his practiced answer.

“The work you do here is some of the finest in Britain. I followed your research on gnome repellents closely. It was incredibly impressive. I’ve always had a love for Herbology, ma’am, and some of Britain’s foremost Herbologists work here. I’d be honoured to have the chance to work alongside them and advance the field.”

Ms Bones hummed, her expression not changing.

“Let me be frank, Mr Malfoy. Our HR department was surprised to receive your application, and more than a few current employees have raised concerns about involving a Malfoy in our sensitive research.”

Scorpius’ stomach sank, but he kept his face blank as he let her continue.

“Your family is well known for influencing the Ministry of Magic and other important institutions, even through threats when necessary, and it is of utmost importance that all of the research conducted here be free of bias. Any concerns that our lack of bias may be jeopardized must be taken seriously.”

“As they should be, ma’am,” Scorpius said, nodding his head. “What I want to do is Herbology. Real Herbology. I’m not looking to influence anything except through conducting the same unbiased research you’re known for. I want to discover real information, not manipulate results for anyone’s benefit. My family has no more interest in getting involved than I have in letting them influence my work. “

Ms Bones nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. Scorpius knew he was running out of time to change her perception.

“I’ve familiarized myself with your mission statement and ethical guidelines,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “And they align with my own personal ethics as a researcher. I’d be thrilled to talk about it with you in greater detail.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ms Bones said, laying her clipboard on her desk. “I’ve read your cover letter where you go into detail about that same topic. I think we’ve discussed everything we need to for today, Mr Malfoy. We will review your application over the next week alongside those of our other applicants. You’ll receive an owl containing our decision within the next fortnight. Unless you have any pertinent questions, that will be all for today.”

Scorpius heart sank, but he nodded. As he said his polite farewell, Ms Bones didn’t look him in the eye.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was slow on Wednesday nights, which was how Scorpius liked it. The few times he came to the pub by himself, he was looking to be alone and stew in his thoughts, not listen to others talk and laugh.

He perched himself on a stool at the counter, offering Hannah a smile. She was aware of his plight, having heard of it through the notorious Weasley-Potter grapevine that Scorpius had become a part of without realizing it. He was grateful that she didn’t say anything as she slid his usual glass of bourbon in front of him.

He’d taken his first drink, a shiver traveling down his spine as the alcohol burned at his throat, when Neville appeared from the back of the pub. His eyes zeroed in on Scorpius, who sighed over Hannah’s betrayal in informing his former teacher of his presence. He kept his eyes trained on the wall above the counter as if avoiding contact would make Neville decide he shouldn’t be disturbed.

That didn’t work of course. Neville perched himself on the stool next to him with a sympathetic smile on his lips.

“Hi, Professor Longbottom,” Scorpius said quietly.

“I’m not your professor anymore. I keep reminding you to call me Neville.”

Scorpius nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake the oddness of using Neville’s first name after seven years of him being his teacher. Half of him still expected to return to Hogwarts in a few months’ time and take one of Neville’s Herbology lessons despite having been gone for a year.

“How are things?” Neville asked, voice falsely light. “Still job hunting?”

Scorpius bit down on the inside of his lip, accidentally drawing blood. It wasn’t the first time Neville had asked that same question, but there was nothing new to report in his answer. At least Harry wasn’t tag teaming like he had last time. That conversation had really made Scorpius feel like a failure, no matter how the men had meant for it to come across.

“Yeah,” he said, drawing the word out as if it would postpone the inevitable. “I had an interview today, but I didn’t get the job.”

“You can’t possibly know yet—“

“Trust me,” Scorpius said as he raised his glass to his lips again. “The interviewer as good as accused me of being a spy for my family and upsetting the organization’s reputation just by being hired. Then I was told to leave.”

“They didn’t ask about your qualifications? Or the independent research you did with me in your seventh year?”

“No,” Scorpius scoffed. “They don’t care about that. What’s more important is the story the Prophet could print if they got wind of me having the job. I could be the most competent Herbologist in the world—which is never going to be possible if I never get hired—and it wouldn’t make any difference. To them, I’m the descendent of a notorious family who brings trouble and nothing more. I just want someone to look at me, and see me, instead of what they expect to see. At this point, I’d be happy to be rejected as long as it wasn’t my family name that made the decision.”

Neville was quiet for a moment, and Scorpius refused to look at him. Though he kept telling himself that none of what had happened was his fault, he couldn’t shake the shame that came from being constantly told he wasn’t worthy enough of the positions he’d worked hard to be qualified for.

“It wasn’t fair for them to reject you for things your family did,” Neville said quietly. “But you can’t let that stop you from trying. That wouldn’t do anyone any good.”

Scorpius snorted.

“I’m serious,” Neville snapped, prompting Scorpius to finally look at him again. “You’re one of the most promising students I’ve had the pleasure of teaching, and you’re only the second during my years at Hogwarts to be fascinated enough with the subject that you were willing to take on extra work. That enthusiasm alone should be enough for you to get your foot in the door somewhere. It _will_ be enough for someone. I guarantee it. You have my good word behind you.”

Scorpius traced the rim of his glass with his thumb, his bottom lip protruding as he debated his next words.

“I’m not sure I want to keep trying,” he said. “It’s exhausting, Professor Longbottom. It’s interview after interview with all of them ending in failure. I’m tired. My dad keeps handing me money whenever I visit, and that doesn’t make me feel any better when I have to go on about being independent from my family in interviews. All I really want now is a job, whatever that is, where I can finally feel like I’m not mooching off of my family and Albus and everyone else. I don’t know what I’d do; I don’t know if there are other companies more willing to hire me outside of Herbology, but I’m desperate for anything. At this point, I’d be relieved if Azkaban hired me.”

Neville was quiet for a moment.

“You should do what you think is best for you,” he said quietly, his dissatisfaction with Scorpius’ proposed planned clear in his voice. “Herbology will always be waiting for you if you decide to come back to it, and I understand where you’re coming from. But, for whatever it’s worth, I don’t think anyone else sees you as mooching off them. Albus was as thrilled about that breakthrough with the Mandrakes as you were, and your dad’s certainly not missing any of that money he’s giving you. You said you wanted people to see you, Scorpius, and plenty do. They may not be the people who need to see you in those interviews, but you’re not just another Malfoy to everyone. That’s not something to forget about when things get difficult.”

Tilting his glass, Scorpius stared into the dregs at the bottom of the glass.

“If you want me to stop calling you Professor Longbottom, you’ll have to stop saying stuff like that.”

Neville laughed, clapping Scorpius on the shoulder.

“Maybe you’re right. Believe it or not, you find yourself slipping into it after teaching for a few years without even realizing you’re doing it. It gets hard to break the habit over the years. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“Of course, Professor Longbottom.”

Scorpius grinned at Neville’s scowl. The momentary happiness wouldn’t last. Neville patted him on the shoulder and disappeared into the back, leaving Scorpius alone with what was left of his drink. He downed the rest of the bourbon and ordered another.

Words of wisdom or not, he felt like shit, and he wanted to wallow in it.

* * *

Scorpius groaned as he regained consciousness. The first thing he noticed was the light coming in through his eyelids. He turned his face into his pillow as if that would be enough to escape it, but it wasn’t. His mind was well aware that it was daytime, even if he dreaded that fact.

Before long, he felt the mattress dip down beside him along the edge of the bed, not where Albus usually slept. He felt the presence hovering beside him and cracked his eyes open, groaning as he caught a brief glance of his husband before the light coming through the window behind him made him squeeze his eyes shut again.

“No use asking how your interview went yesterday then,” Albus said. “I came home to find you passed out. Did you go to the the Leaky Cauldron again?”

Another groan was the only answer Albus received, but it was enough. The mattress shifted as Albus reached for something on the table beside the bed. A second later, a cool, damp cloth was laid across Scorpius’ forehead. His eyes fluttered open to meet Albus’ gaze, and even though he couldn’t work up the energy for a glare, Albus shrugged, knowing what thoughts were going through Scorpius’ head.

The damp cloth never helped. It only left Scorpius and the bed damp in the end, but Albus insisted on it each time Scorpius woke up hungover. Who was Scorpius to deny his Healer husband his attempts to heal him? 

“It’s your day off,” Scorpius said instead, reaching out to Albus and touching the first part of him he could find, which just happened to be his knee. “And I’m clearly not working today. Let’s just stay in bed and not leave.”

Albus smiled as Scorpius reached up to tug him down to the bed by the front of his robes. There was laughter as Albus struggled not to fall on top of Scorpius. After some awkward maneuvering, Albus was back on his side of the bed in the robes he’d already donned for the day.

With a fond smile, Albus cupped the back of Scorpius’ head, his hands weaving through his hair. Scorpius hummed contently as the touch sent tingles through him that, whether real or imagined, seemed to relieve some of the pain in his throbbing head.

“You should take some of your potion before anything else,” Albus said, motioning towards the bedside table.

Scorpius scowled without glancing at the vial. The potion tasted horrible no matter how masterfully Albus had brewed it, and a large part of him would rather suffer through the hangover headache than have to taste it.

“Albus,” he said, both wanting to get something off his chest but also wanting to stall before he had to take the potion in question.

Albus hummed as Scorpius tugged him in closer.

“Thank you for seeing _me_ on the train all those years ago and not just another Malfoy.”

A crease appeared in Albus’ forehead. He didn’t say a word as he leaned in to place a kiss on Scorpius’ lips.

“You didn’t see me just as Harry Potter’s son either,” he insisted. “Don’t give me too much credit without giving yourself some too.”

Scorpius’ hand had found Albus’ waist, and his fingers tapped against his robes as he spoke.

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together. Maybe there’s no one else who can see us as more than the sons of our fathers.”

“Don’t say that,” Albus said, grasping Scorpius’ chin and tilting his face up to look at him. “We have lots of people who see us. Our families, obviously, but also Teddy and Hagrid and Neville and Hannah and Luna—”

“Okay,” Scorpius said with a giggle. “I get your point.”

His hand that wasn’t on Albus’ waist began working its way up Albus’ chest, fingering at the button on his robes. Not because he had any intention of removing it—not at that moment at least—but because it provided a nice distraction as he relived the interview from the day before in his mind.

“I put your baby blue robes in the wash this morning,” Albus said softly. “They’re drying now. Should be ready to go for your next interview.”

Scorpius nodded in silence before burrowing into Albus’ chest, determined not to move for a while yet.


End file.
